When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced.
Live your life in such a way that when you die,
people cry and you rejoice.
Last Saturday, Glen's mom finally went back to our Maker after struggling for two years with breast cancer. Since Glen was never really the talkative type (and I guess it's just not something you tend to spread around), most of my classmates didn't know about her mom's health problem. But I knew because I was told about it. And when Glen's mom was admitted in the hospital and was already near her last breath, I also knew, because the resident-on-duty that time happened to be a classmate who texted me about it. Even though I never saw her physical state, but somehow I also knew that her condition was deteriorating rapidly and perhaps she wouldn't last long in this earth anymore. But it still came as a shock when she passed away during the weekend, only a few days after celebrating her 59th birthday.
Although Glen is one of my close friends (all of my high school classmates are so dear to me), I never really knew her mom personally. So I don't really have any memories of her that I can write about. But earlier, when we were at the wake and church service, the people -- those who knew her very well -- talked about her, and about how she has lived her life. They said that she was a very supportive wife to her husband (who is a pastor), a loving mom who raised three responsible and God-fearing daughters, a dear friend who taught and shared what she had willingly, and most importantly, a noble woman who followed after God's heart and sought for God's will. And I knew, without a doubt, that everything they said was true. It was not some last minute phony attempt to say something nice about someone who's no longer with us, but these were all sincere, truthful testimonials, as reflected on the lives of the many people she has nurtured and blessed when she was still alive.
There was definitely grief and sympathy for the loss, but much greater than these, there was actually acceptance and peace in the hearts of all the people who knew her and loved her. I felt that there was actually much joy in the halls (and in heaven) since everyone knew that she has already fulfilled God's purpose for her on this earth and that she is now in the most wonderful place, where she will no longer shed any tears or suffer in agonizing pain, where she will be rewarded by our King for running the race faithfully and obediently until the end. I'm not fortunate enough to have known her personally, but there's no need for more convincing to make me see her as a true role model for all of us.
Farewell, Ate Lydia. You are already safe ... and home.
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